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A waft of his cologne hit me. “You, too, Moody.” I wiped my feet before entering, since it had been raining a bit.
“Is that my new name?”
“It’s not only your last name, but you were a bit moody when I first met you, so I think it fits you perfectly.” I smiled. “I wasn’t sure if I’d hear from you again.”
“Well, you said third time would be the charm, right?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Here, let me take that from you.” He grabbed my table and settled it in the corner of the foyer.
“Thank you.” I dropped my bag in the same location and looked up toward the stairwell. “Is Rafe here?”
“No, actually. He’s with Maren’s mother for the weekend. She lives in Palm Beach, but she’s in town staying at the Ritz. She’s always traveling around the world, and she wanted to spend time with him while she was here. She insisted he stay with her.”
“Ah. Well, that’s sweet.”
“I warned her that she shouldn’t expect much in the way of conversation.”
I nodded sympathetically, but my pulse raced at the realization that we were likely alone. Except for maybe the dog.
“And Winston?” I asked. “Where’s my buddy?”
“He’s confined to the back room for now. I didn’t want him bothering you.”
“He really is no bother.” I rubbed my hands together and looked around. “Is Rafe doing better?”
“You mean, is he still not talking at all?”
“I was more referring to the ear infection. But yeah, also that.”
“His ear is better. Thanks for asking. But unfortunately, he’s still not talking.”
“Okay.” I frowned. “Well, glad to hear about his ear.”
As I followed him into the kitchen, he asked, “Can I get you something to drink? A glass of wine?”
“I can’t have wine. I’m on the job.”
“Well, I’m gonna open a bottle for myself. You know, the whole need-to-relax-before-the-relaxing-massage thing. If you want a glass, I won’t tell.”
God, did I need to relax right now. If there were ever a time to break the rules… “Maybe just one,” I blurted before I could change my mind.
“White or red?”
“Either is fine.”
“Red it is, then.”
I watched as he uncorked the wine. He had such beautiful hands, big and rough-looking. I imagined how his callused fingers might feel against my bare skin, and then shook the thought away. You’re here to work, Wren, not to ogle him.
He walked a glass of cabernet over and handed it to me. “If you have somewhere else to be later, let me know. I won’t take up too much of your time. We can get right to the massage. I imagine you must have plans on a Friday night.”
“Not tonight, actually. So it’s no rush.” Taking a sip of my wine, I let my eyes wander around the kitchen. I immediately noticed something on the table. It was a black book with a hard cover and a gold fleur-de-lis on the front. “Is that a journal?”
“Yes.” He reached over and grabbed it. “Shannon actually designs them.”
“What’s the significance of the fleur-de-lis?”
“She’s obsessed with all things New Orleans. She has an online shop of New Orleans memorabilia and trinkets that she makes. She left that journal here for me. She thinks I need to express myself more and suggested I start writing my feelings down in it.” He rolled his eyes.
“The nerve of her,” I taunted.
“Not my thing.”
I shrugged. “Still, she’s right. Journaling is the best. It’s the only way I ever fully express myself. It’s very therapeutic.”
He took a sip of his wine. “It sounds like more work to me—something I don’t have time for.”
“It shouldn’t be work. It should just be like a purge of your thoughts, frustrations…anything, really. It doesn’t have to be articulate.”
“Mine would be filled with expletives, then.”
“That would be better than nothing. Probably even more therapeutic, actually. I highly recommend it.”
“Well, since you highly recommend journaling, I must try it.”
I squinted. “Are you mocking me?”
“No.” He laughed behind his glass. “I swear. I’m not.”
It was nice to see him more jovial tonight.
“I have to confess something, Wren.”
“Okay. What is it?”
He set his glass down. “I Googled you.”
I took a long sip of my wine. “Find anything interesting?”
“How long have you played the cello?”
My eyelid twitched, as it often did when I was nervous. I wasn’t sure why knowing he’d watched me play made me jittery.
“I started lessons when I was eight.”
“You’re amazing. The song you played during your audition for City Symphony was hauntingly beautiful. That was the video I watched. I’d heard that song many times before, but somehow it never sounded like that.”
“Bach Cello Suite Number One. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve played that. It feels like the alphabet to me.”
“Listening to it made me sad in a sense, but not in a bad way… In a way that brought out some things that maybe needed to come out.”
